Wild Magic Page 4

  When we get to the school, Fox offers to help me out of the truck. I decline. It’s far from a graceful descent, but I manage to get onto the pavement without injuring myself. The corners of Fox’s mouth twitch as I approach and I give him a gentle shove. “Shut up.”

  He smiles at me, his gray eyes twinkling. His brown hair is mostly pushed back, but a few strands fall onto his forehead. I have the impulse to push the hairs back but stop myself. This is the danger of Fox. When I first met him, in my reality, he used an attraction charm that amplified his natural good looks—and my desire to be near him, to touch him. He’s not using the charm now, but the ghost of those memories grips me. It would be so easy to pretend Fox means something to me. Before things changed, we didn’t know each other well, but he told me once he wanted to be the kind of person I could trust. He was one of the few people who knew about my mom’s death—and the only one who knew the reason I chose to help the circle locate the crystal. He was kind to me when I needed it. Despite his flaws, there was good in that Fox, and that good only seems amplified in this version of him. It’s difficult not to get caught up in the possibility of him.

  Fox cups the side of my face with his hand and my breath catches. His eyes smolder as he leans in toward me. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. He’s going to kiss me, right here in the parking lot, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Except he hasn’t—not really. No matter how many times he kissed her, he’s only kissed me once, when I was too shocked to do anything about it.

  Crystal would tell me to let him do it—to pretend. I can’t do anything out of the ordinary that could cause people to start asking tricky questions. Still, I don’t want him to kiss me—not here, not where anyone could see us.

  Not where Owen could see us.

  Someone calls Fox’s name and he turns away just before his lips connect with mine. I take a step back, removing his hand from my face. He murmurs something about catching up with me inside before heading off toward a knot of guys standing by a red car. I don’t really hear him. Adrenaline courses through my veins and I walk faster than I should toward the school building. I need to put space between me and Fox.

  Owen. He’s the one I want to be kissing—the one I should be kissing. He was my choice before and he still is, no matter what my alternate-self decided. But the fact is he and I are not together. My stomach twists. How can I pull this off? How can I pretend to be happy with Fox when he’s not the one I want?

  I’m only feet from the school’s door when Lexie calls my name. “Hey, wait up!” She walks between Crystal and Bridget in tight formation. I curse silently as I take in their appearance. It looks like all three girls consulted each other on the day’s outfits: They’re each wearing a baby-doll dress, even though the weather is turning cooler. The cut of the dresses are identical, although the patterns differ: They all wear blue, but Crystal’s dress has a floral print, Bridget’s has a spotty pattern, and Lexie’s is solid. They walk in unison, their high heels clicking against the asphalt of the parking lot. The only thing that makes Lexie stand out from the others is that she wears a pair of shimmery cream leggings whereas the others are bare-legged, and Lexie’s curly red hair is piled at the crown of her head in a messy bun, not in loose waves around her face like Crystal’s and Bridget’s. I take the tiniest bit of solace in the fact that the Lexie I knew might be somewhere inside the one before me.

  Bridget’s eyes flick down at my outfit—skinny jeans and a long, belted sweater—and she rolls her eyes in disapproval. The group doesn’t slow as it approaches and I know without being told that I’m expected to fall into step with them. Unsure what else to do, I submit, walking beside Crystal.

  Lexie peeks around Crystal as we enter the building. “Didn’t you get that sweater last year?”

  I tug at the cowl at my neck, my fingers tingling. The tone of Lexie’s voice indicates that I’ve committed some kind of fashion faux pas, something I have honestly never worried about before. But alternate-me must be aware of this rule, and I have to give a reason for breaking it. My eyes find Crystal’s for the briefest moment, hoping she’ll say something to save me, but the slightest arch in her eyebrow is the only response she gives. “It worked so well last year, I thought I’d bring it back for an encore.” Lexie’s gaze remains dubious, so I add, “Fox mentioned it the other day and I decided to wear it for him.”

  After a beat, Lexie rolls her eyes. But the smile that curls the edges of her lips tells me the lie was a smart one.

  Bridget sniffs and murmurs something about today being the day to wear our dresses, but Lexie swats her in the arm.

  “No worries,” Crystal says. She lifts her chin in the direction of a bathroom and, as one, the three of them head toward it. A half-second late, I follow.

  Bridget checks the stalls and nods at Crystal when she’s verified they’re all empty. Crystal snaps her fingers and the key-operated lock on the main door clicks. Lexie crosses to the mirror, checking her lipstick. Crystal digs through her purse for a few moments before pulling out a small drawstring bag. Before she opens it, I know what it contains.

  “You brought it to school?” I ask.

  She tips the crystal into her palm and raises an eyebrow at me. “What do you expect me to do with it? Hide it in my underwear drawer?” I open my mouth and she rolls her eyes, effectively cutting me off. “I’m gonna do a glamor on you so you match us.”

  My skin prickles. “You’re gonna what?”

  Crystal tilts her head ever so slightly—a warning. “You know. A spell to change your appearance?”

  I hold my hands up. “Um, no you’re not.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  Lexie releases an exasperated sigh. “Isn’t it obvious? She wants to do it herself.”

  Bridget edges closer to us. “She is the best at glamors,” she admits tentatively. She meets my eyes, a flash of expectation crossing her face. “I’m kind of curious what she can do with the crystal’s help.”

  Crystal’s lips twitch for a moment before she holds the quartz out. I hesitate before reaching for it. I haven’t the foggiest idea how to cast a glamor spell. Trying to do one for the first time with an audience seems like a recipe for disaster. But what option do I have? If I refuse or insist Crystal do it for me, Bridget and Lexie would be suspicious.

  I close my fingers around the stone and a spasm crosses Crystal’s face when I pull it from her hand. An emotion sparks through me: reluctance. She doesn’t want to give it over, but she’s trying to prove me wrong about the crystal, about its effect on her.

  The overwhelming emotions that accompanied my touching the crystal yesterday don’t flood through me today and I’m relieved. Maybe Crystal’s right and there’s nothing wrong with the stone. Maybe yesterday was just a fluke. The energy in the quartz thrums through my hand, but no sinister feelings.

  Now for the hard part.

  I study the dresses worn by the girls and imagine something in the same style for myself. When Crystal taught me how to light a candle, she directed me to imagine a flame and touch that imaginary flame to the real life candle. I hope casting a glamor is a similar process. In my mind’s eye, I call up the image of a dress like theirs, then I see myself wearing it—along with leggings like Lexie’s and the same kind of shoes they all have on.

  I close my eyes. Warmth floods over my body, starting at my head and ending at the tips of my toes.

  Bridget squeals and claps her hands together. I open my eyes and look down. No longer do I wear the jeans-and-sweater combo—I’m in a blue-and-white baby doll dress with cap sleeves, shimmery white leggings, and blue high heels. Surprise and relief mingle in my chest. I did it. I spin around, getting a feel for the shoes I now wear.

  “Wow! I think that’s a speed record.” Bridget nods encouragingly.

  Lexie’s eyes flick from my feet to my face. “You didn’t do your hair.”

  I tug at the ends of my still-straight hair. “It’s the way I want it.”

/>   She rolls her eyes and I bristle. How can this Lexie be so different from the one I knew?

  The warning bell sounds and Crystal holds her hand out expectantly. I hand the stone to her and she packs it back in her purse. With another click of her fingers, the door unlocks and the four of us head into the hallway.

  Our group’s unified line breaks apart when we enter the stairwell and I’m relieved. I want to get away from Crystal and Bridget and from this altered version of Lexie. It’s all too much change for me to take in all at once. Not for the first time, I’m looking forward to the monotony of a school day, the easy, familiar rhythm of instruction and assignments. Unless the world has really changed, that, at least, should be the same.

  When we get to the second floor, I break off from the group and head down the hall toward my locker. As I approach, a weight presses on my shoulders. What if it’s not my locker anymore? Something so simple should be the same, even though it seems like nothing else is. But the only way to know is to try; I can deal with odd looks and confused questions later if I’m wrong.

  I say a silent prayer as I dial in the combination and tug on the lock, relief swelling in me when it opens. The relief is replaced immediately when I open the door. I didn’t realize I was looking forward to seeing Owen’s sweatshirt until it’s not there. The sweatshirt Owen wore the day we met remained in my locker since my second day here. I kept meaning to give it back to him, but it kept slipping my mind. Once or twice, I tried to give it to him between classes, but he claimed he couldn’t hold it or he’d just get it later. And he never did. Having his sweatshirt in my locker had imbued it with his scent; now, it smells vaguely of flowers and I notice a satchel of herbs on the top shelf.

  Tamping down my disappointment, I grab the books I need for my first few classes, hoping against hope that since my locker is the same so is my class schedule.

  A whistle sounds behind me and I don’t have to turn to know it’s Fox. “Quick wardrobe change,” he says as I slam the locker closed. “So fast one could call it magical.” He winks.

  Glancing around to make sure no one overheard him, I tug at his sleeve. “Fox, shush.”

  He makes a face as he reaches forward to sweep my hair over my shoulders. “I’m glad you left the hair straight.” He rubs the pads of his thumbs over my cheeks and my breath hitches. He is good-looking—there’s no use denying it. Objectively, I can see why a girl might want to be with him. I can see why I might want to be with him. If Crystal’s right and we’ve set things on the course they were always supposed to take, does that mean that I’m with the person I’m supposed to be with? I’m not sure I can accept that.

  “Fox, you got a second?”

  Fox turns toward the speaker and my heart begins to pound. Owen is standing in front of us. My stomach twists as I take in the perfect lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the deep, sparkling blue of his eyes. Of course Fox isn’t who I’m supposed to be with. How could I even think that? I’ve had a connection with Owen from the moment we met. But here that moment never happened. He doesn’t even look at me. His gaze is turned to Fox, who engages him in conversation about some class assignment.

  While Fox talks, he slips his arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. I feel a rush of embarrassment, but Owen doesn’t even notice.

  We’re nothing to each other here. The realization washes over me and I struggle to take in breath. Owen and I had been at the start of a relationship just days ago; he kissed me on my front porch and before we separated for the night, he begged me not to change my mind about him—about us. And now that had never happened. I’m with Fox and Owen couldn’t care less.

  Chapter Five

  I make it through the first three hours of the day without much of an incident. But I can’t help cataloging subtle differences. Lexie and I still sit together in first hour English, but West Harmon sits on the other side of the room with some guys I don’t really know. When Lexie catches me staring in his direction, I can’t even come up with a lie about why I’m watching him. She raises an eyebrow and glances at me for the rest of the hour, making sure I’m not paying undue attention to a guy who’s not my boyfriend.

  Is West still friends with Owen? It’s clear that Lexie doesn’t think much of West, but she and Owen aren’t friends here, so that might not affect Owen’s opinion. And what about Bria Tate? A plump girl with black hair and a penchant for heavy eyeliner, she’s not exactly the kind of person who would be accepted into Crystal Jamison’s inner circle. I never asked, but it seems likely that Bria and Lexie became friends after Crystal and Lexie cut ties before ninth grade. Since that break never happened here, there would be no reason for Bria to enter the equation.

  In second hour, it’s hard to pay attention to Mrs. Bates, the science teacher, because my eyes keep straying to Owen. He sits several seats in front of me and doesn’t turn to look back once. I can’t decide whether that’s good or bad. I don’t know if I could handle him looking through me the way he did at my locker when he spoke to Fox. I don’t want to deal with the fact that I don’t mean anything to him anymore.

  West is in my third hour, along with Felix Wolfe. Though I wasn’t particularly close with Felix, he was a member of my old group of friends—Lexie, Owen, Bria, and West. He and West sit together and I take comfort in the fact that, at the very least, the two of them are friends.

  Mrs. Ortiz has already begun the day’s lesson when a student arrives late. My breath catches when I see who’s walking into class: Tucker Ingram. Mrs. Ortiz admonishes him briefly before allowing him passage into the room. He takes his time walking across the room to the last row—my row. He grins easily at anyone who will make eye contact with him. A few girls titter as his gaze rakes across them and my stomach twists. Objectively, I suppose, I can understand their reaction. Tucker’s shaggy brown hair is mussed just enough to give him an I-just-climbed-off-a-motorcycle look, and his blue eyes are surrounded by thick, dark eyelashes. The barest hint of stubble on his jaw and his black leather jacket give him the bad-boy look so many girls are drawn to. But I can’t see him as attractive. I can’t be objective when I look at him, because all that flashes through my mind is our last encounter, before I found myself in this reality: After a movie night at the bookstore downtown, an intoxicated Tucker tried to attack me. When I look at him, I can smell the sweet alcohol on him and feel his warm breath on my face, my neck.

  Tucker continues on his journey across the classroom and heads up my aisle. My muscles tense as he settles into the empty desk behind me. Mrs. Ortiz continues her lesson and I attempt to focus on her words, but the skin on my back crawls; I can feel his eyes on me.

  When Mrs. Ortiz turns to write something on the board, fingers tap on my shoulder and I jump. Tucker snorts as I turn to face him.

  “What?” I snap.

  He leans across his desk and it takes everything in me not to leap from my seat. “Can I borrow a pencil?”

  “No.” I turn forward and scribble down the notes Mrs. Ortiz has written. Tucker hasn’t moved: I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

  “Come on,” he breathes, his voice low. “We both know you’re like an office supply store. Give me a pencil.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention and I clench my jaw. Without looking back, I hold my pencil over my shoulder. After a second, he pulls it from my fingers. I pull my backpack onto my lap and dig through the front pocket for another pencil.

  No sooner do I put my backpack back under my desk than Tucker taps me again. “Can I get some paper?”

  I stifle a groan, making a mental note to ask the teacher to move my seat. I rip out a couple of sheets from my notebook and turn. “You’ve got a pencil and paper. Now leave me alone.”

  Tucker sneers as he pulls the paper toward him. “No need to be a bitch about it. What’d I do to you?”

  “Silencio, por favor, senor Ingram,” Mrs. Ortiz says from the front of the room. “Escuchen, por favor, senorita Barnette.”

/>   I turn my attention back to the front of the room, grateful for a reason not to continue a conversation with Tucker. He doesn’t bother me for the rest of Spanish, and after third hour, I stop by my locker for my lunch before heading down to the cafeteria. I bypass the lunch line, my chest aching as I remember my first day here. Owen and I stood in that line, and I thought about how I never bought lunch at my old school, how my mom was too proud to admit we needed help and always sent me to school with a lunch packed from home. As I hold the brown paper bag in my hand, I can’t help smiling. At least not everything has changed.

  It’s not until I walk into the cafeteria proper that my pace slows. On Friday, I knew exactly where my place in the room was: at the table in the center of the room on the right side, with Owen, Lexie, Bria, West, Felix. But there’s no way that’s where I sit now.

  I don’t even realize I’ve stopped in the center of the room until Lexie nudges me with her elbow. “Get lost?”

  I force a laugh, though what she’s suggesting is pretty accurate. “Sorry. I just... I got lost in thought.”

  She raises an eyebrow before surveying the immediate vicinity. It takes a second for me to realize she’s checking for West. I curse myself silently. I have to be more careful. The last thing I want to do is start some kind of rumor that I’m interested in West, and while the Lexie I knew wouldn’t do something like that, I’m pretty sure this one would.

  When her scan comes up empty, Lexie heads toward a table near the back of the cafeteria. I recognize it instantly as the table where Crystal and her friends always sat. Lexie settles down at Crystal’s right side. Bridget is already sitting at Crystal’s left. I’d be concerned about selecting the right spot for myself except that Fox is already seated across from Bridget. I don’t need the warning look Crystal is giving me to know I’m supposed to sit beside him. I take the seat and Fox immediately slips his arm around my waist. I fight the urge to shift under his touch. Crystal’s eyes are on me.